


The Stretch and Pull of Disused Hearts

by billiethepoet



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiethepoet/pseuds/billiethepoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt notices that the move to the Anchorage Shatterdome is affecting Hermann's leg. So Newt builds him a hot yoga studio out of spare parts and an abandoned storage closet. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stretch and Pull of Disused Hearts

“DHL is delivering kaiju guts now?” Hermann’s snide voice cuts through the electronica pounding through Newt’s headphones. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Take off the damn headphones, Newton!” 

Newt drops the large, colorful headphones to his desk. “Jesus, what is it?” 

Hermann points his cane toward an irritated looking DHL delivery man with a hand truck stacked with plain brown boxes. 

“Oh! Oh, shit. I wasn’t expecting...this...stuff...for at least a few more days.” Newt scrambles around his desk, knocking loose papers to the floor. His headphones almost strangle him as he moves away from the computer. He wrestles them to the desk before approaching the delivery man. Hermann watches the entire farce through his holographic display and responds with a scornful eye roll. 

Newt signs for the boxes. “Can you just leave them over there?” He points to a corner near the door on his side of the lab. The delivery man drops the first box on the floor with a larger thud than strictly necessary. 

“Dude!” Newt squeaks out. “Fragile! That’s fragile science stuff!” Hermann snorts before going back to his 3D model of the Breach. The delivery man manages to unload the rest of the boxes from the handcart without Newt needing to raise his voice again. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon glancing at the stack of boxes but going no where near them. Hermann doesn’t spare them a second glance. 

Newt waits until Hermann has left for the night before dragging the boxes out of the lab, to the freight elevator, and down several levels to their new home. He hopes Hermann won’t notice the lack of new equipment or samples on Newt’s side of the lab in the morning. That might ruin the surprise. 

***************  
The relocation to the Anchorage Shatterdome has been hard on Hermann. He’s cold all the time. There are only so many layers he can wear and still be able to function. He really needs to look into the rumor that one of the J-Tech crew members is knitting fingerless gloves. 

Worst of all is how the cold affects his leg. The scar tissue feels like a more tightly coiled knot than usual. His bones, or, more accurately, the pins and plates holding his bones together, ache. They constantly ache and there are only so many painkillers he can take. His equations are limited to the lower half of his chalkboards because climbing all the way to the top of the ladder is daunting. 

And Newton has noticed. Hermann knows he has. The man may be an idiot, but he’s also a genius, and he’s never been unobservant. The idea that others, that Newton specifically, see him at his weakest is worse for Hermann than the actual pain. 

He dry swallows another Percocet and pulls himself a little higher on the ladder. 

***************  
“This is perfect. Fucking perfect.” Newt is incredibly pleased with himself, and not just for being himself this time.

Sweat drips down Newt’s forearms and soaks the rolled up cuffs of his shirt. The room is blazing hot, way hotter than any room in Anchorage in the dead of winter has a right to be. But that is entirely the point. The humidity’s a bit low, but Newt is working on that. He has a couple humidifiers set up in the small space ready to pump out moist air at a moment’s notice. It’s just a bit too much for him right now. He has already sweated through the back of his shirt and his glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose. 

The time for humidifiers would come. He needs a couple more things first: a steady chair, some towels, another mat. He could make this work; he’s going to make this work. Hermann will love it. Or hate. Probably hate it. Or maybe love it. He will love it, if Newt just talks him into it. 

***************  
The dome is drafty and the cold bounces off the metal walls like an echo. Hermann tries everything he can think of, including dragging a folding chair into the shower to leave his leg under the hot spray as long as the water heater holds out. He finds some temporary relief under the warm water, and with heating pads packed under dense blankets as he sleeps, but the tension and stiffness sneaks back up on him during the day. 

By the time he hobbles from the lab to the mess hall for dinner each night, his leg feels like a hard block of ice. How can a block of ice be on fire? 

The days in Anchorage become Hermann trying to squeeze as much productivity into the morning hours as he can while the afternoon and evening become a downward spiral of pain. He doesn’t want to rely too heavily on narcotics but he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

***************  
“Just come to the storage room on level 12 with me.” 

“Why in God’s name would I go down there? It’s not even designated for K-Science use.”

“Well, I commandeered it. Sort of. I put some stuff in there.” Why is Hermann the most frustrating man in the world to try to help? To do something nice for? “Just shut up and come with me.” 

Hermann scowls and clutches his chalk tighter. “I’m working.” 

“Yeah, but you’re almost done so just walk down there.” 

It takes several more minutes of suggestion, of bickering, of down right pleading but Newt eventually gets Hermann out of the lab. The entire walk down to Newt’s secret hideaway is like leading a wild animal with a piece of raw meat. Hermann grouses, and grumbles, and complains. He looks like he may bolt any second. 

“Come on. Come on. Almost there. I swear, this is going to be great. Really cool.” Newt’s mostly talking to himself at this point. He’s pretty sure that no matter how hard Hermann tries to ignore him, he can’t tune him out completely. And anyway, the encouragement is just as much to soothe Newt’s own nerves as much as Hermann’s. 

Newt throws open the door with much more flourish than is strictly necessary. “Ta-da! Check it out, man.” 

The room is large for a storage closet, but when you’re storing spare jaeger parts and J-Tech equipment storage closets do need to be bigger than most would expect. There’s no actual official equipment in this room, however. 

The floor has been cleared and swept clean. There’s a circle of a dozen or so space heaters around the edges of the room. A handful of humidifiers are spaced between the heaters. None of them are turned on and the air is as cold and dry as the rest of the Anchorage Shatterdome. 

In the center of the room, lying on the floor, are two thick black mats with a folding chair standing between them. A stack of towels, some large and some small, rest on the seat of the chair. 

Newt’s grinning like mad, arms thrown wide, while Hermann stares at the room in confusion. 

“What is this?” Hermann asks quietly. Confusion is knit in the furl of his brow and he looks like he’s slightly afraid to know what Newt has cooked up. Which Newt can understand. He’s had some really stupid ideas over the years but this definitely isn’t one of them. Not at all. 

Newt’s smile stretches until the corners of his mouth hurt. “It’s a hot yoga studio. I built you a hot yoga studio!” 

Hermann stares, blinks, and continues to stare. The seconds of silence drag on and it’s almost enough to make Newt doubt all the work he’s put into this. 

It’s Newt that cracks first. “Dude, aren’t you going to say anything?”  
“Why?” Hermann’s voice is incredulous and Newt knows him well enough to see that this could quickly turn to anger.

Newt takes a deep breath and pushes Hermann through the door, pulling it closed behind them. “You’ve been hobbling around way worse than usual since we got here. I figure the cold has to be killing your leg...or your hip...or whatever it is exactly. Look, I know it’s none of my business, right? But I know you’re in pain and-” Newt waves an arm toward the circle of space heaters. “And this could help.” 

Hermann takes a few more minutes to stare, the muscles in his jaw jumping and clenching until he opens his mouth to speak. “And how, exactly, is trying to twist myself into a pretzel in an overheated room going to help my leg? Notice that I say trying because as you have already deduced, I. can. barely. walk. so I don’t think bending and flexing is in my future!” Hermann’s voice has grown louder as he works himself up into admitting his own weakness. It’s not something he does often, or ever really. 

“No, that’s the thing. Other than not knowing what you’re talking about **at all** , you’re thinking about it all wrong.” Okay, based on the murderous look on Hermann’s face, maybe Newt could have phrased that better but nothing made him more angry than when someone, when Hermann specifically, refused to _try_. “The thing about yoga is that you don’t have to bend yourself into a pretzel. You just push it as far as you can and slowly you’ll be able to do more and more. Don’t push it so you hurt yourself but just stretch it out. And the heat helps your muscles loosen up and keeps them from getting too stiff. So even if you just heat the room up and sit in here, it should make your leg feel better. At least for a while. But over time, who knows? It could really help, you know, over time.” 

Hermann doesn’t look convinced. He looks a smidge less homicidal but he’s staring at the mats on the floor with his top lip curled into a snarl. His muscles twitch and jump as he grips his cane with straining knuckles. 

“It can’t hurt to-” Before Newt can finish his latest encouragement, Hermann clumsily spins on his heel and storms out. The door slams behind him with a hollow clang and Newt is left standing in the circle of his own makeshift hot yoga studio alone. 

***************  
He thought he would get used to the cold. He really did, but it’s been months since they arrived in Anchorage and it’s not getting any better. It may, in fact, be getting worse. It’s hard for Hermann to quantify the pain he feels in his leg. No scales of 1-10 or changing smiley faces marked “Pain Level” have every seemed adequate or objective enough to measure his pain. At his least scientific moments, it’s hard to separate the physical from the emotional when it comes to his injury and subsequent discomfort.

He’s reluctant to go to the PPDC doctors for help. They’d be glad to help him, in the form of more pain killers or stronger pain killers. If such a thing even exists. Hermann’s more afraid of the tradeoff between brain and body functionality than he is of the dependence that can easily form with the medications he has to take. Honestly, it’s probably formed already. 

He resolves to stay away from the medical bay for as long as he can. Until he has no other option. 

***************  
Hermann doesn’t come to breakfast the next morning. Newt’s afraid he won’t even show up in the lab. The man has to have, like, a billion sick days saved up since he never, ever takes one. Not even for New Year’s Day hangovers. Which Newt doesn’t know if Hermann even gets since he’s never managed to make it in on a New Year’s Day in his years with the PPDC. 

But Hermann does make it to the lab. He’s already well into his scribblings by the time Newt arrives. Thick silence settles around them as Newt pulls specimen jars and lab notes to the center of his worktable.

Of course, Newt can’t let that stand for long. “Dude, are we going to talk about this at all?”

“No.” Hermann continues scratching chalk against slate, keeping his back turned toward Newt. 

“This is ridiculous!” Newt slams a stack of notebooks on his desk for dramatic flair. “If you would just get the fuck over yourself for two damn seconds and just _try_ -”

“If I would try? If I would try! You sanctimonious little prick. You’re not the one who has lived with this....this... _this_ for years! You have no idea what I’ve tried.” 

Hermann’s fury pushes Newt’s anger higher. The man simply will not listen to him. “I know you’re not trying now and not trying is going to leave you limping around the dome. It’s not going to get as warm here as it does in Sydney or in Berlin or wherever the fuck else you lived so get used to it!” Newt takes a flying piece of chalk to the cheek as he wraps up his rant and he swears to God that if he had any kaiju guts out on his table he would strangle Hermann with them. 

Hermann storms out, stabbing his cane into the floor with more force than necessary. 

“Oh great! Just stomp around on it! That’ll really help the situation!” Newt’s sarcasm echoes around the lab with no one else to hear. Hermann is long gone.

***************  
Hermann stands in the doorway of the storage room-cum-yoga studio. Logically, the heat would make his leg feel better. He had worked that much out for himself with his instinct to pile on blankets and heating pads at night. Hazy memories of physical therapy sessions based around gentle stretching come back to him from years ago. Newton’s facts and the hypotheses based around those facts are probably correct, however the presumptive and prying nature of Newton creating this _room_ for him is too much. Hermann’s blood boils at the invasion of privacy and the absolute gall of Newton inserting himself into Hermann’s most private affairs. 

Still, it would probably help his leg. It could be the answer he’s been looking for; a missing piece he never would have considered. But Hermann’s stubbornness is not to be underestimated. He leaves the makeshift studio without stepping inside. 

***************  
When Hermann falls, Newt is there to catch him. Which makes both of them absolutely furious.  
“Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn? It’s ridiculous. If you’d just try the goddamn room I made for you-” Newt groans as he heaves Hermann to his feet. Hermann may be a couple inches taller but he’s strangely slight. Newt’s colorful arms are more than strong enough to pull him to his feet. 

Hermann wobbles as he regains his balance, leaning heavily on his cane. “Oh, yes, why can’t I just let you swoop in, uninvited, and try to solve all my problems in some childish way? That will work out wonderfully for everyone! You’ll get to be right and be smug about it every bloody day!” 

“Jesus Christ, Hermann! I won’t be smug. I mean, we’ll both know I was right but I won’t be an ass about it-”

“As if you could be anything else!”

“-because I really want you to feel better! And not just because I’m sick of watching you limp around or because you look fucking miserable all the time, okay?”

Hermann pulls a few ragged breaths through his nose. His voice goes cold and hard, like the frozen surface of the Bering Sea outside their metal bubble. “This is not some scientific exercise that has a simple solution, Newton. This is my life, my body. I’ve undergone years of physical therapy and drug treatment regimes. I’m not just going to sweat and stretch my way out of having a permanent injury and chronic pain. That’s what those words mean. This doesn’t just go away because you decide that it does.” 

Newt wants to throw a chair at him. How could Hermann have gotten it so wrong? They’ve known each other for years, and okay, they don’t hang out on the weekends or anything but Newt’s not a moron. He knows Hermann knows that. “I know it’s not going to get miraculously better. You’re not going to start dancing a fucking jig. I just thought it might help with the increased pain and stiffness you’ve been having since we moved to Anchorage. If you don’t want it, I’ll fucking disassemble the whole room. I’ll never bring it up again.” _I’ll never try to help again._ And as soon as Newt thinks it, he knows it’s not true. It’s against his nature to see a problem and do nothing about it. 

Hermann doesn’t acknowledge the offer to break down the yoga room. He limps from his chalkboard to the chair in front of his holoprojector. The satisfaction of writing out equations longhand will have to wait until he feels like he can stand for more than 30 seconds. Newt goes back to his side of the lab and jams his headphones over his ears. 

The music soothes Newt’s nerves and pushes him into a sort of “let’s get science done” trance until pangs of hunger override the notes in his ears. He hibernates his workstation, tosses some samples in a jar for safe keeping, and makes a break for the mess hall. 

Hermann calls out quietly just before Newt hits the lab door. “I don’t know how to do yoga.”  
Newt gives himself a split second to grin before turning around. Hermann’s still seated at his desk after this morning’s fall. “I can show you. I used to date a yoga instructor back in Boston.” 

“Of course you did,” Hermann scoffs. Newt doesn’t hide his grin the second time. 

***************  
What he’s able to uncover about yoga online does not look promising. Hermann’s knowledge of yoga is minimal at best. Newton may have dated a yoga instructor but that sort of thing was never an option for Hermann. So, to counter his ignorance he defaults to what he knows: research. 

Some of the videos he finds really do look like instructions for advanced pretzel making. He tries searching for “novice yoga” or “yoga for beginners,” but even that is anxiety inducing. Multiple videos and photos show thin, fit women standing on one leg and stretching the other out in front of them while they bend to meet it. Or bending a leg backward and bending their backs like a bow. 

Hermann has already agreed to try this foolish plan. To let Newton attempt to teach him yoga. He’s staring failure and embarrassment in the face in the form of his research results and those are two things Hermann hates with a passion. 

He goes to bed thinking less about his inevitable unsuccessful and foolish display in the yoga room and more about how Newton will be the one to witness it.

***************  
Hermann shows up for their first yoga lesson dressed just as he was in the lab. Well, he’s lost the jacket anyway. Newt has to beat back a smile. 

“Dude, you can’t do yoga in a sweater vest and trousers.” 

“I don’t have anything else.” 

“No shorts? T-shirt? Swim trunks in a pinch?” 

Hermann casts an eye over Newt’s holey AC/DC t-shirt, black gym shorts, and all the way down to his bare feet. “No. Why would I bring swim trunks to Anchorage?” 

“I don’t know, man. Why don’t you own a pair of shorts?” 

“When do you think I last needed exercise clothes?” Hermann says. 

Newt manages to keep both his eye roll and sigh in check. He drags Hermann back to his quarters, just figuratively though he’d love to have done so literally as well, and hands him a pair of blue running shorts and a worn t-shirt that reads “I’m not into booze. It dulls the drugs.” 

“You can’t be serious.”

“No one is going to see you but me and they’re my clothes anyway so just shut up and put them on.” Newt ducks into the hall. “Now change!” 

It takes Hermann way longer than it should to change into the shorts and t-shirt. Newt feels a stab of unease at his own irritation. Maybe it’s not taking longer than usual? Maybe Hermann just has trouble getting dressed and undressed? When he does emerge from Newt’s quarters, he’s clutching the neatly bundled pile of his own clothes against his chest, deliberately hiding the slogan blazed across the borrowed t-shirt. 

Newt does roll his eyes this time. “Come on, back to the storage closet.” 

Even Newt’s a little relieved when no one spots them on the walk back down to level 12. He knows any hint of embarrassment will have Hermann fleeing and he’s put too much time and effort into this plan to see it all go up in smoke now. 

When they reach the room again, this time as properly attired as they’re going to get, Newt pulls the mats so they lie side by side in the middle of the room. The space heaters and humidifiers have done their job while Newt had to supervise Hermann’s wardrobe decisions. The room is hot and the air is thick with moisture. Newt waves a hand to the mat lying next to the metal folding chair. “You. That’s your mat.” 

His back is turned, shutting off the humidifiers, when Hermann’s snide voice cuts through the quiet of the room. “And what? Is the chair for you? You’re just going to loom above me while I do this?” 

_Some days are a constant struggle not to slap this man._ Newt takes a few deep breaths before turning around. If nothing else, the years working with Hermann have been great for his temper control even if he doesn’t always choose to use it. 

“No. That’s your fear of abandonment and self-consciousness showing.” That jab was too good for Newt to pass up. “The other mat is for me, the chair is also for you, dummy.”

Hermann stares at him in confusion and Newt pinches the bridge of his nose, just under his glasses, and takes another deep breath. “It’s for stability, and to use to balance, and if you can’t sit on the floor you can sit in the chair instead, all right?” 

“Of course I can sit on the floor!” Hermann is sharp and defensive and Newt wants to pummel him. How much more work does he have to do before Hermann lets his guard down a bit, before he accepts that Newt’s not here to mock him or hurt him? 

He does use the chair for balance as he lowers himself to the mat. Newt tries not to notice, tries not to gloat a bit, but he can’t help it even if it’s just a secret smile. When Hermann gets himself lowered completely to the mat, he stretches his right leg out in front of him and tucks the bottom of his left foot against his knee. “Well, I’m on the floor.” 

Newt plops down effortlessly beside him. “Is that comfortable way for you to sit? With your knee bent like that?” 

Hermann shifts awkwardly back and forth. “Yes. Keeping my right leg straight is most comfortable.” 

“Okay, then we’ll start with that.” Newt turns on his mat so he’s facing Hermann. “Slide your left foot a little higher. Yeah, like that. So your foot is against the inside of your thigh. Now extend your right arm and bend at the waist.” Newt demonstrates, curling the fingers of his right hand over his toes. Hermann only manages to grasp his shin and lets us out a huff of frustration. “No! No, that’s good!” Newt attempts to nip Hermann’s foul mood in the bud, as much as he can anyway. “Just push as far as you can, you just want to feel the muscle stretch, and next time you’ll be able to stretch farther.” 

Newt sits up, letting go of his toes, and Hermann follows. “Now do it again.” Hermann still only reaches his shin and Newt tries really hard not to laugh at him. He only giggles. Only a bit. 

They spend about thirty minutes on the floor. He doesn’t want to have Hermann try any sort of standing poses yet. Hermann grouses about repeating similar stretches and becomes frustrated when his right side won’t stretch as far as his left. Newt counts it as a victory that he doesn’t club Hermann with the chair. 

***************  
“I feel disgusting.” Hermann’s clothes are sticking to his skin and he can feel moisture roll down his spine. 

“You’re supposed to sweat. That’s kinda the point, dude.” 

Sweat drips from Hermann’s fringe onto the mat. “I have never perspired so much in my life.” Today he’s wearing a borrowed _The Clash_ t-shirt with only ragged edges left where Newton cut the sleeves off long ago. 

“Well the heat is keeping your leg loose. You can already bend and stretch farther than you could a few days ago.” 

Hermann harrumphs but doesn’t comment, annoyed that Newton can remain so upbeat in such oppressive circumstances. He goes through a series of four quadricep stretches they’ve begun each of their practices with before Newton speaks up again. “But, I mean, is it working? Does your leg feel any better?”

Hermann finishes his stretch and lowers himself to lie flat on his back. He carefully bends and raises his right knee, interlaces his fingers below the joint, and pulls the leg back and out, angling the knee toward his shoulder. He can feel Newton watching him even if he can’t quite see him out of the corner of his eye. His right leg is always the worst but there’s no sign of pain or the slightest hint that his muscles could lock up or spasm. Hermann breathes in and on his exhale pulls the knee fractionally closer to his body, deepening the stretch. After another inhale, he lowers his leg to the mat. 

“Yes. Yes, I think my leg does feel better.” It’s both a relief and a struggle to say it. 

Hermann rolls his head to the side to see Newton smiling down at him in pure joy. 

***************  
“You are the most infuriating person I have ever had the misfortune with which to work!” 

“Could you maybe not sound like a Victorian novel every time you yell at me? I tune you out like high school English class.” 

Hermann slaps the palm of his hand against his desk. “Can’t you just leave me in peace? All I want to do is work!” 

Newt spins, magnifying lenses clipped to the frames of his glasses distorting the room around him. He manages to focus on Hermann’s scowling face. “Dude, I didn’t do _anything_. I’ve stayed on my side of the lab all day, my samples have stayed on my side of the lab all day, and I’ve barely spoken to you. Chill out!” 

“Your samples reek and I can’t concentrate.” 

Newt laughs because that really is a new one. “Of course they smell. They’re silicone based tissues preserved in a chemical cocktail strong enough to peel paint off the walls.” 

Hermann pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “It is absolutely ridiculous that I am expected to share working space with you and your house of horrors.” 

He can take a lot. He really can. Newt even enjoys it a statistically significant chunk of the time, but calling his research a “house of horrors” is way over the line. He strikes back in the most efficient way he can think of. 

“Oh, you’re grumpy today. I’d say you’re not getting laid but you’re you so I’m sure that’s no different than normal. What’s the matter? Your precious math not working out? Afraid that I’ll figure out how to save the world and be a fucking rock star without you?” Venom leaks from Newt’s words as easily as kaiju blue flows from his objects of study. 

Hermann squares his shoulders, turns on his heel as smoothly as his leg will allow, and storms from the lab. 

“Shit.” Newt tosses a chunk of lymph node back into its jar. 

Hermann doesn’t meet him for yoga that evening, but he is back in the lab the next day. They work silently throughout the day and Hermann leaves before Newt can apologize. Not that he would apologize. Not that he has anything to apologize for. But maybe he should have had the exhaust fan on. 

***************  
It’s been almost two weeks since Hermann set foot in Newton’s patchwork yoga studio. His anger cooled almost immediately after their last argument. Newton can raise his ire quickly and to great intensity but it never seems to last long. He seethed for a day or two but their workplace interactions are back to normally now. Hermann just hasn’t been able to bring himself to swallow his pride, apologize to Newton for snapping at him, and come back to this room. The pain in his leg has worked back up and is overpowering his wish to stay out of the yoga studio. 

He’s managed to get some PPDC issue gym shorts and a t-shirt with the jaeger program logo on it from the supply store. The clerk’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when it was Hermann and not a jaeger pilot that showed up to pick up the order. He wants to wrap himself in his large winter coat for the walk to the storage room full of space heaters and humidifiers so no one will be able to see what he’s about to do. At least it isn’t as mortifying as Newton’s well weathered t-shirts. 

The yoga studio is empty when Hermann arrives. It’s dark and cold as he makes his way around the suddenly too large circle turning on the heaters. Hermann doesn’t notice the addition of a second chair with a tablet propped against its back until he’s made his way around two thirds of the circle. There’s an instruction video preloaded on the tablet and a note from Newt.

_If you won’t practice with me, at least practice with the video. If there’s something that hurts your leg, don’t do it but don’t throw away progress because you’re a stubborn ass._

The last bit is so Newton, combining concern with insult, that Hermann smiles. 

The instructor on the video tells Hermann when to inhale and release and when to exhale and pull. She moves him through the same set of quad stretches he’s practiced with Newton, then onto some hip openers he struggles with on his right side. In the end, he’s sweaty and tired and his leg feels like a limp noodle. It’s just not the same. 

***************  
“This is foolish.”

Newt’s head perks up. “What?” He glances around his workspace. His papers are as organized as they ever are, all his specimens are sealed in their jars, and nothing has crossed the line of demarcation today. 

Hermann’s spine stiffens and he’s standing as straight as he possibly can. Newt focuses on Hermann’s knuckles turning white against the top of his cane. “Come back to the storage room.”

“For what?” Newt is skeptical. It’s not often that Hermann changes his mind, especially when it also involves a healthy swallow of his own pride, and Newt can’t quite believe it’s actually happening. 

“I’ve been continuing to practice…” Hermann’s lip curls in vague distaste. “It’s not the same without you.” 

“Yeah, that was the point. You were obviously sick and tired of my company.” 

“It’s not the same without you in a negative way, Newton.” 

“Oh.” Newt’s mouth splits into a wide grin. “Oh, okay. I’ll come back on one condition.” 

Now it’s Hermann’s turn to look skeptical. “What is your condition?” 

“You have to keep calling me Newton, man.” 

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up before he reins it back in. “If I must.” 

Newt claps his hand on the back of Hermann’s neck and squeezes as he moves to his specimen collection. “By the time you touch your toes, you’ll be calling me Newt. Guaranteed.” 

And if the palm of Newt’s hand is warm and tingly as he walks away, no one needs to know. 

***************  
Sweat drips into Hermann’s eye as he flops gracelessly onto his back against the mat. It almost doesn’t sting anymore, he’s so used to sweat running into places it doesn’t belong. He is tired. Newton is pushing him and it is irritating. How the man has so much boundless energy, Hermann will never know. 

“I think you should try something new.” 

“No.”

“Come on, you’ll never know how far you can go unless you push yourself.” 

Hermann snorts. “Did you read that piece of wisdom in a sweet wrapper?” 

“Are you implying that I eat too much candy? Because, dude, that is not even remotely true.” Newton sounds irritated so Hermann pulls his head from the mat to look at him. 

He’s sitting on his own mat, which has inched closer to Hermann’s over the weeks, legs crossed and poking at the small roll of his stomach pushed over the edge of his shorts by his bent over position. Hermann smiles and lets his head fall back to the mat with a sticky thump. “You aren’t eating too many sweets. You’re fine.” 

“Seriously though, bend your right knee up and cross your left ankle over it. It’s a figure four and it will stretch out where the back of your thigh goes up into your butt muscle thingy.” 

Hermann rolls his head to the side and glares at Newton’s for his flippant terminology. 

“Oh come on man, I study kaiju biology not human biology anymore. Just do it.” 

The only reason Hermann concedes is because it sounds easy. And he can stay lying on his back for it. Bending up his right leg is hard, it’s always hard, but he can do it. Placing his left ankle just below his right knee to make a rough number four is much easier. 

“Okay, good. Good. Does that hurt?”

There’s a slight twinge in his hip but it doesn’t hurt. Not exactly. And Hermann’s pride has always been as great as his tolerance for pain. Sometimes greater. “It’s fine,” he grumbles. “What next?” 

Newton scooches closer to Hermann’s shoulder. “Okay, now pull your leg up in the air and grasp your hands behind your right knee.” Hermann’s abs flex as he pulls his legs parallel to the ground, right knee bent at a ninety degree angle. He entwines his fingers and locks his hands on the back of his knee. The twinge pinches a little tighter but it’s not enough to stop. 

“No, like this.” Newton’s hands are warm and damp as they ease Hermann’s fingers apart. Newton pulls at Hermann’s wrists, repositioning his hands against his thigh a few inches below his knee. Hermann’s stomach flips end over end with the touch of skin on skin. He’s not used to being touched. No one goes out of their way to make contact with him. That’s all it is, he tells himself. 

Newton pulls away. “Now pull back on your thigh and press your left elbow into your left thigh. It’ll open up your hips.” 

Hermann huffs and rolls his eyes. They’ve been doing this long enough that even with a new stretch he doesn’t need such overly detailed instruction. He pulls back too hard and too fast in his irritation at Newton’s gentle handling. The twinge in his right hip instantaneously changes from a slight discomfort to a burning pain and whips like a rope of fire across his groin and down his thigh all at once.

He cries out before his pride and stubbornness can stop him. He drops his leg quickly, too quickly, to the mat and it thumps against the floor painfully. His vision has gone spotty but the pain is pulling and twisting back to its point of origin in his fucking useless hip. It leaves the feeling of deep gouges filled with hot lava in his flesh as it recedes. 

Newton’s leaning over him, hands planted on either side of his head and body angled across his chest. Hermann can’t quite hear over the buzzing in his ears and the panting of his own breathe but he’s sure Newton’s talking. Newton’s always talking and Hermann may be crying but he doesn’t have the strength to worry about that now. 

The buzzing calms to a manageable level and words slot into their proper place in time with Newton’s moving lips. 

“Jesus. Oh, fuck. Hermann? Hermann, are you okay? Oh, come on Hermann. Don’t tell me I broke you.” 

“I’m not broken,” Hermann rasps, more in reaction to his entire adult life than the situation at hand. 

“Well, being able to argue with me is a good sign because, dude, you look pretty fucking broken right now.” Newton pushes his glasses up from where they’ve slipped down his sweat covered nose and runs his hand through his hair in his classic nervous gesture. 

Hermann stays quiet but keeps his eyes open. If he closes them, he may just give in to the pain and pass out on the mat. Newton gives him a few blessed seconds of silence. 

But only a few seconds. “Should we get you up? Can you stand? Or do you need a minute? Because I can totally give you a minute if you need it.” Newton is still hovering and Hermann just wants him to be gone so he can fall apart in privacy. This was a stupid, _stupid_ idea. Why did he ever think he could do this? Just because Newton said he could? He honestly believed the fiction Newton was constantly spinning that Newton could simply will anything into existence. And now he was lying on the floor, crying and hurting, because of it. _Stupid._

He takes two more ragged breaths before nodding. “Yes, help me up and back to my room. I just need to lie down for a while.” He could suffer a few more minutes of humiliation if it meant that he could tuck himself away, lock the door, and never do this again. 

Newton is stronger than he looks, and more gentle. It takes a few attempts until Hermann is standing, leaning heavily against Newton’s side. The pressure and warmth of Newton’s hands turn his stomach in a completely different way now and Hermann hopes the stinging pain coursing down his leg and the hot humiliation burning up his spine don’t cause him to be sick on the floor. 

They struggle down the hall and Newton is as winded as he is when they finally reach Hermann’s quarters. He’s about to lower himself to asking for help into bed but Newton pushes on without the need for Hermann to say anything at all. Newton lowers Hermann to the bed gently but it still jars his leg from heel to hip and Hermann’s jaw clenches as the pain washes over him in crashing waves. 

Hermann comes back to himself as Newton is rifling through his desk drawers. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” 

“Where are your pills?” 

Hermann stares, pain slowing his brain and the comfortable image of Newton in his room just like he belongs there stealing the air from his lungs. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t gesture, he doesn’t answer.

“Dude, I see you take them in the lab. I know you have pills for the pain. Shit, did you leave them in the lab?” Newton drags his hand through his hair again and Hermann comes to his senses. 

“They’re in the bathroom. On the sink.” 

Newton darts into the small attached toilet and comes out shaking a few pills into his hand. “I don’t know how many you take.” He holds up his palm with four oblong, white pills sitting in the center. Hermann grabs three with a shaky hand, one more than he really should take. He dry swallows them all before Newton can ask if he needs water. One more pitying kindness might be too much for Hermann to handle. 

Hermann slumps at an angle across the bed with legs not quite all the way on the mattress. Newton stands next to him awkwardly holding the Percocet bottle. 

“I need to rest,” Hermann says. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I can go.” Newton tosses the bottle of pills on the desk. Of course he wouldn’t think to put them back in either their proper place or near enough to be useful if Hermann wants to take more. “I’ll come back and check on you before the mess closes, okay?”

“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Geiszler.” Better to shut the door on this now before Hermann makes an even bigger fool of himself. 

“Dr. Geiszler? What the fuck, man? We’re past that and you can’t go back.” Newton stomps to the door. “Look, I’m sorry I hurt you but I’m coming back to check on you and unless you feel well enough to chase me out of here when I do come back you can just suck it up and deal with it.” 

The door slams a little too loudly and drowns out Hermann’s quiet reply of, “You didn’t hurt me.” 

***************  
Newt doesn’t suggest they go back to the yoga studio and Hermann doesn’t bring it up either so Newt lets it go on even longer. He keeps his music at a reasonable volume and a cautious eye toward Hermann’s side of the lab. Hermann’s been leaning more heavily on his cane since the disastrous day when Newt pushed him too hard. 

Newt had gone back to Hermann’s quarters later that night with miso soup and packets of tiny oyster crackers steaming on a tray that he sweet talked out of the mess hall. The door was unlocked and Hermann was asleep. He left the soup and didn’t let himself push Hermann’s sweaty fringe from his forehead. 

The sudden stop in their extracurricular activity sends chills of panic up Newt’s spine and straight to the base of his skull. Not just because he’s worried about Hermann’s leg, which he is totally worried about. Of course he’s worried about Hermann’s leg. But he’s also worried about not seeing the man outside their lab anymore. Newt’s thought about that for so long. He’s wondered what it would be like to have Hermann as his friend, as something more than a friend, instead of just a lab partner. 

Having so much time with Hermann, being so near him, and then having to go back to long days of little conversation and evenings alone in their separate rooms makes Newt want to shatter glass with his bare hands. Hermann may never want to go back to the yoga room so Newt’s brain has been firing on all cylinders to come up with a Plan B. Anything to keep Hermann from pulling away from him again.

He has a plan. Sort of. “Hey, Hermann.” His voice is higher pitched and scratchier than he intended when he practiced this conversation in the shower this morning. “I was thinking-” Hermann snorts at that and Newt hides his answering smile “-maybe we could co-author a paper together? Send it off to a journal? Neither of us has done a lot of publishing since we got here.” Newt’s published about five white papers a year since starting with the PPDC, but he’s pretty sure Hermann doesn’t know that. 

There’s a stretch of silence Newt wasn’t expecting. He was expecting a scathing “no” right out of the gate. He risks a glance across the lab. Hermann is sitting at his 3D modeler, an image of the breach and their last attempt to bomb it all to hell laid out in front of him. But he’s not looking at it. His eyes are angled up, over the top of his reading glasses, staring at Newt. 

“What would we write about together?”

“I dunno, man. The breach? You can talk about the math of how it opens and when and I can talk about how the kaiju use it to move between worlds. Or something. It was just an idea.” Newt can feel himself getting defensive even when he doesn’t want to be. It’s something Hermann brings out in him. 

Hermann hums softly. “That could work. It might be better as two papers. Each one focusing on our strengths, with rotating authorship of course.” 

Newt’s grin is automatic. “Yeah, that would be awesome. We could start with yours.” Just as easily as Hermann brings out his defensiveness, he also brings out an incredible urge for generosity. There’s a need to give him things. To give him everything. 

Hermann smiles in return, slow and small but it’s still a smile. “I’d like to send it to _Computational Geometry Theory and Applications_ so we might need to push strongly on the predictive models.” 

“Why there?” 

Hermann’s smile twist a little and Newt’s gut goes with it. “They rejected my first paper out of graduate school. Consider it my due.” 

Newt laughs because of course Hermann would hold a grudge against a journal even after he’s become the top scientist, the only scientist really, in his field and works every day to save the fucking world. “Maybe we could meet after dinner to start working on it? Or, you know, have dinner together to talk it over.”

Hermann’s cheeks look pink, but it’s probably just the glow of the modeler projection. Newt would like to think it’s more than just the light but he’s not a fool. Foolish sometimes, but not a fool. Hermann clears his throat and looks back to the projection before answering. “Yes, we could discuss it over dinner.” 

Newt goes back to his own work, smiling slyly to himself. Plan B is go. It was a long shot and he didn’t think it was going to work at all. 

“And, after dinner and our work, I’d like to go back to the storage room for more practice.” Hermann’s jaw is set and he’s resolutely not looking at Newt. Newt keeps himself from looking at Hermann’s cane, or his leg. 

“Are you sure, man? I mean, I don’t want to tell you not to if it was helping but last time-”

Hermann cuts him off, still looking away. “Yes. I want to try again. I’ll just go easier this time.” He grimaces, his lips curling in on themselves in distaste. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Hermann.” Newt tries to apologize for pushing. He really does. But the venomous look Hermann shoots him shut him up immediately. Even Newt can appreciate the occasional tactical retreat. “Okay, okay. We’ll take it easier.” 

Maybe Plan B was unnecessary after all. 

***************  
Hermann isn’t sure which is more frustrating: arguing with Newton over his own damn models or still only being able to comfortably grasp his ankles as he leaned forward. 

“The model is sound, Newton.” Hermann tries to inch his fingers across his ankle but barely brushes the tips against the tops of his feet. He shifts his bottom against the mat, stretches his spine on an inhale, and folds himself forward again. He’s still working almost entirely on seated poses, not trusting his leg or the rickety folding chair to support him for any length of time. 

“I’m not saying it’s not sound, Hermann. I’m saying it’s unimaginative.” 

Hermann sits up straight at that. “Unimaginative? It’s a mathematical model predicting a tear in the fabric of space between two worlds! How can it be unimaginative? The very reason I was the first mathematician to work on this, and on the jaegers by the way, is because I was imaginative. Don’t tell me my model is unimaginative.” Hermann’s ire fades to a low grumble as he exhales and folds forward again. His fingers still only graze the tops of his feet. 

“Do you want me to help?” Newton’s voice is quiet, barely rising above the whirling of the humidifiers. 

Hermann is confused. “With my model? I told you. It’s correct.” 

Newton huffs a laugh and a rather large butterfly takes wing in Hermann’s chest. “With your stretch. I’ll concede on the model. But if _Computational Geometry_ rejects you again, it’s not my fault. I tried to warn you.” He’s teasing. Hermann knows he’s teasing and it’s both endearing and frustrating. 

He latches onto the frustrating part instead of thinking about why he finds it endearing as well. “How are you going to help me with my stretching?” 

“Just do your forward fold again. Stop being so cranky, dude.” Hermann huffs to cover his smile and reaches for his ankles again. As he stretches, he feels Newton squat behind him. Newton’s knees hover behind Hermann’s armpits and it’s the closest the two have been for more than a few fleeting seconds. Hermann concentrates on where his fingers meet his feet. Newton’s hands come to rest low against Hermann’s back. He tenses as the warmth sinks through his t-shirt. “Relax.” Newton’s voice is quiet and calm, lacking its normal overly dramatic cadence, and he’s speaking tantalizingly close to Hermann’s ear. “I won’t push you too far. Tell me if it starts to hurt.” 

Then Newt does push. He pushes gently, with his thumbs anchored next to Hermann’s spine and his palms cradling the space between Hermann’s hips and his rib cage. The extra pressure forces Hermann farther forward, his hands sliding closer to his toes. The pressure on his back recedes and he rises to chase it before he can stop himself. 

“Good. Inhale and when you exhale, stretch again.” On the stretch, the hands come again but this time higher up with fingers fitting between Hermann’s ribs. The pressure is greater this time, but still gentle, and the tips of Hermann’s fingers brush against the base of his toes. Newton pulls away and Hermann follows him again, as surely as the push and pull of the tides. 

“One more time.” Newton inches closer and Hermann can feel Newton’s knees crowd against him. His hands come to rest even higher up on Hermann’s back as he folds forward. The pressure this time is just under his shoulder blades and it feels so good Hermann almost moans. Instead, he keeps his head down and hooks the first knuckle of his fingers over his toes. His arms are stretched taut and straining. 

Newton keeps the grounding pressure on his back while he asks, “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” 

Hermann shakes his head, faster than normal, maybe a little bit frantically, but Newton begins to pull back. “No. It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine.” It doesn’t hurt. It’s not entirely comfortable but Hermann would say anything to keep Newton behind him, pressing forward and down on his back. 

Newton gives a firm squeeze to Hermann’s ribcage before pulling away. It’s an affirmation and congratulations all at once. “See if you can hold it.” Hermann holds the extension, fingers curled lightly over his toes, until Newton jumps up from his crouch behind him. 

“Yeah! I knew you could do it!” Newton claps him on the shoulder as he straightens his back. Newton bounces on his toes and helps Hermann up from the floor by hauling him up by the elbow. Newton’s hand stays wrapped around his elbow for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. 

“Thank you, Newton.” He means for holding his elbow, for the extra push, for wanting to write with him, for all of it really. 

“I thought we agreed you were going to call me Newt now?”

Hermann rolls his eyes and the thread of antagonism is back in their banter. “No, you said I would call you that horrendous nickname. I never agreed to it.”

“Oh come on, dude! It’s just two little letters left off my name. What’s the big deal?” Newt’s still bouncing and all traces of the calm, grounded energy he had while crouched behind Hermann’s back are gone. 

It’s disappointing and comforting to see Newton slip back into his regular persona. “Nicknames are an abomination. If your parents wanted you to be called ‘Newt,’ they would have named you that.” 

Newton grimaces. “I’m pretty sure my parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a musician or something respectable but look how that turned out.” His grin is back as quickly as it slid away in the first place. “I’ll get you to call me Newt someday.” 

He’s walking away, bending to unplug the space heaters as he walks toward the door. Hermann’s not sure if Newton hears his murmured, “Not bloody likely,” or if he just chooses to ignore it. 

They walk back to Hermann’s quarters together. They are, after all, on the way to Newton’s own. There’s an awkward pause at the door. Hermann has his hand on the latch, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. 

“So.” Newton’s looking down and rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. The urge to duck inside his room and slam the door is almost overwhelming. “Today was good. Really good.” 

Hermann licks his lips. The whipcord of tension coiling around the base of his spine has nothing to do with his busted leg and scarred hip and everything to do with the fact that, deep in his gut, he wants Newton to lean forward and kiss him. In that moment, he doesn’t care where hands go or how chaste it is or if it leads to more, he just wants to press his warm, wet lips to Newton’s. 

Instead, he clears his throat and turns the lever on the door. “I’ll have a second draft of the paper for your review over breakfast.” Hermann ducks inside and closes the door without waiting for a response. 

Leaning against the door, he wills the tension to fade from his body. _This is getting dangerous. It has to stop._

***************  
 _Oh, man. Gotta go. Gotta get out of here._

Newt has to keep himself from running away from Hermann’s door. He’s never been known for his powers of restraint and those flimsy instincts are all that are keeping him from banging on Hermann’s door, kissing the stupid man square on the lips, and blurting out that he’s been harboring a crush on Hermann since their early days working away from the front in their Berlin laboratory.  
Because that would go over great with Hermann. Absolutely fantastic. 

It wasn’t intentional. Newt didn’t plan on developing a giant boner for his stuffy, infuriating lab partner. Actually, it’s probably best that he doesn’t think about boners at the moment. It’s just that Newt’s always liked a challenge, something to push him or to stimulate him into seeing things from a different angle. And if Hermann does anything, it’s push. 

Newt’s not sure what team Hermann plays for, or if he plays at all really, and he’s tried not to spend sleepless nights thinking about that. 

He thought he’d gotten it under control, that it was just a stupid crush. Which, really, Newt gets hit with every time the wind changes. It fell into the background for a while, just an appreciation for how some of Hermann’s sweaters hug his stomach and how fucking brilliant he is, but watching him struggle through the freezing halls of the Anchorage Shatterdome brought it back to full force. Newt wants to protect, and fix, and help. He wants to talk to Hermann every day about nothing at all and watch him wipe chalk dust from his fingers and spend as much time with him as he can. 

_Better put that back in the box it came out of. Some things are more dangerous than kaiju._

***************  
The next morning, Hermann wakes with an erection. It’s not unheard of but it isn’t exactly common either. His sleep fuzzled mind is too slow to stop his body from doing what it wants. 

He rolls over onto his stomach and extends his arms under his pillow to wrap around the edge of the mattress. His hips roll lazily and press his crotch into the sheets. He keeps his mind blank, just enjoying the rough friction of his pajama bottoms against his cock. He uses his arms and grip against the mattress to slide himself along the sheets as his hips pick up their pace. 

Sound carries against the metal walls of the Shatterdome so Hermann bites the corner of his pillow to stifle the moans and cries he knows will be increasing in volume and frequency the closer he gets to coming. His own uncontrollable vocalizations during sex have always been a point of embarrassment after the interaction is complete. 

He pauses to push the front of his pajamas down to the tops of his thighs. The back slips partway down his arse as it bucks in the air and mustn’t that be an appealing sight? If only someone were there to see it. He can no longer keep his mind blank, not with visions of his own arse turned up in the air, partially exposed to Newton’s view. Would Newton’s hands feel as solid and hot cupping his hips as they did pressing against his back? 

His biceps are pulled tight and he’s grinding almost straight down into the mattress now. There are no more long, lazy rolls of his hips, just pressure and heat and the urgency of it all. He orgasms, soiling his sheets, thinking about Newton helping him stretch, pushing him to come. 

He lies face down, wet, open mouth pressed to his pillow, hips still jerking against the slick mess beneath him until he’s soft and cold. 

_This stops now._

***************  
The only reason Newt goes to breakfast at all is because Hermann said he’d be there with the next draft of their first co-authored paper. He’d be much happier grabbing the extra twenty minutes of sleep and stealing a muffin on his way to the lab. Instead, he’s bleary eyed and stabbing at a bowl of oatmeal when Tendo takes the seat across from him.

“Hey my man, you’re up early.” Tendo slides a mug of hot coffee across the table and Newt is never more sad that he can’t actually get coffee loaded down with sugar and caramel anymore. He takes it and settles for some milk instead. 

“Yeah, Hermann’s supposed to meet me here to go over a paper thing we’re doing.”

The coffee is scalding and Newt spits it back into his cup. Tendo stares at him with one corner of his mouth ticked up in a condescending smirk. Newt blows the steam away from the top of his coffee before he break. “What? What are you going to say?”

“Nothing. You’re just pining. It’s cute actually.”

“Pining? For Hermann?” Newt tries to interject as much disbelief and incredulity into his voice as he can but it sounds like a bad lie. Probably because every day it becomes more and more of a bad lie. “No way. I’m not pining for Hermann. And besides, I don’t pine. Never have, never will.”

Tendo sips his coffee, takes his time in responding, which makes Newt have to push down the urge to fill the dead space between them with more empty denials. The silence is a standoff. 

Tendo’s smirk grows and his failure to stay quiet doesn’t seem like a failure at all. “You’re full of kaiju shit.” 

Newt opens his mouth to respond, with what he’s not exactly sure, but he sees Hermann stalking across the mess. “Shut your face, all right Tendo,” he says, and Tendo goes back to sipping his coffee. He tries to keep his face expressionless as Hermann approaches but Newt’s face has never been blank so it’s a losing battle from the get go. He breaks out in a wide smile when Hermann comes to a stop next to him. 

“Mornin’, Hermann.”

Hermann scowls down at him and it doesn’t feel like the everyday, sort of playful scowl he’s used to. Hermann glances across the table at Tendo. “Dr. Geiszler, please do not refer to me so informally in company.” 

Newt stares, dumbfounded. Actually fucking speechless because he was sure, positively sure, they were over this. Newt gets that his growing feelings are one sided but he thought he’d at least earned the right to call the man by his given name. Tendo stays quiet, deliberately ignoring the tension on the other side of the table. 

Hermann slaps a stack of papers, pristine and unwrinkled, in front of Newt’s breakfast. “Here is the second draft of our submission. Please complete your edits by the end of the day tomorrow and return them to me. I’d like to send the paper to the editors by the end of the week.” He backs away from the table a bit before negotiating his turn and stomping out of the mess. Newt looks around, still shocked by the genuinely unfriendly edge in Hermann’s behavior, but no one else seems to have noticed. No one but Tendo anyway. 

“Man, all I’m saying is, when you decide to stop pining and want to get back in the game, I can set you up with someone who is exactly your type. Because that,” Tendo gestures vaguely to the door with his coffee cup, “is not happening.” 

“Dude, I’m not fucking pining, alright? And how do you know what my type is anyway?” 

Tendo sets his coffee cup against the metal table top with a smirk. “You do go for a wide range and you seem to be in a bit of a phase right now, but I know someone that fits your usual. I’ve got a friend stationed with the Coast Guard in town. Thin, reedy guy but strong. Smart, you know, compared to us mere mortals. And blond. You normally go for blonds.” 

Newt chokes down the urge to curse. Tendo’s right. He does usually go for blonds. 

“No way. Not interested. Nope, not in a million years. Everything is fine. I’m fine.” Newt scrambles up from the table, knocking his knee against the sharp edge that curls around the top. “How do you know all that anyway, dude?” 

Tendo rolls out a slow chuckle. “I’m a student of the human condition. I notice things.”

Newt’s rubbing at his knee and he gathers up Hermann’s papers and maliciously folds the edges in his sweaty palms. “Well, stop noticing. Forget you noticed anything. Ever.” Tendo’s still laughing at him but Newt refuses to give in. “I gotta get to the lab, dude. Before he sets my side on fire or something.” 

Newt can feel Tendo’s knowing smirk and quiet laugh rolling down his retreating back all the way out of the mess. It leaves a trail like slime under his clothes. 

**************  
Hermann is genuinely angry at Newton, not for anything he’s done but just for who he is. Getting angry is easy, being annoyed is a piece of cake, but the steadily growing affection Hermann feels deep in his chest makes it nearly impossible to stay angry at Newton. Instead, he feels what used to be white hot rage fade into warm exasperation. His fury has the half-life of a quickly degrading radioactive atom in the face of his more complex emotions for Newton. But it doesn’t affect his desire to see Newton, or to talk to him, or to just do anything at all with him. 

And that’s the problem. 

He has to quell the desire to say or do anything outside their normal professional interaction. Hermann has to focus his energy on reinforcing that protective shield he’s been building since childhood before Newton manages to squeeze in too far to be removed. 

_And, besides, he couldn’t want you._

It’s self-preservation in its truest form. But it doesn’t keep Hermann from quickly tidying Newton’s side of the lab anyway. He stacks some fallen papers and wipes away the moist ammonia rings left beneath table top specimen jars. Doing that is safe, it’s fine, because it’s not like Newton would notice anyway. 

***************  
Newt works himself up into a good irritation before he makes it to the lab. It’s totally deliberate. He needs to be mad at Hermann’s outburst in order to keep himself from feeling wrong-footed and defensive. It may not be the healthiest way to deal with his lab partner, but it works.

He stalks into the lab, shoulders hunched and tense, and goes straight to Hermann’s desk. “Do you want to tell me what that was all about, dude? Or did you just wake up on the wrong side of your bunk this morning?” 

Hermann’s eyes don’t rise to meet Newt’s. Instead, they focus on the crumbled stack of paper clenched in Newt’s fist. “Do you have to be so rough with everything that comes into your possession, Newton?” 

“Rough? I’m rough? You just stomped into the mess hall, yelled at me, and stomped out again!” Newt may grip the papers a little harder out of spite, he’s not really sure. 

Hermann does look up at that. And for a split second, he looks tired. Tired and worn down. “I did not yell at you. My voice was never raised.”

“Not the point, dude!” Newt’s voice _is_ raised but he figures Hermann owes him that at least. “So what was that about?”

Hermann takes a moment to swallow and sigh before pulling his glasses to fall around his neck. “Newton, I am realizing that our relationship has become too personal. We are spending more time together outside of working hours than is appropriate for colleagues. We should scale back our interactions to a more reasonable level.” 

It’s white hot rage that hits Newt first. “What the hell? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, with your supreme powers of scientific observation, but we’re stuck in a giant metal ball in fucking Alaska. There’s no one else to spend time with but colleagues.” Newt lets his disgust out with the last word, like kaiju acid dripping from his tongue. 

“Social interaction should not be entirely predetermined by geographic proximity…” This sounds less like a prepared speech and Hermann is struggling with it. 

“Oh, did one of your models tell you that? Can you put in variables for friendship and location and have a map spit out to tell you where to go? Because, right now, I can sure as fuck tell you where to go.” 

Any hesitance or softness disappear from Hermann’s face and his mouth twists into his well-practiced sneer. “This is so like you, Newton. When someone challenges you, or tells you you can’t get what you want, you react like a child. A petulant, shrieking child and I have had enough. We’ll finish our publication together and then confine our relationship to the laboratory. No more dinners or other extracurricular activities.” Hermann’s face contorts further into an expression that Newt can’t easily identify. It’s part embarrassment, part sadness, and all bitter reality. 

“It’s yoga, Hermann. You can say you do yoga to help your leg. It’s fine to say something like that out loud, you know.” 

“Yes, I know what it is and I can say it. No more yoga. There, does that make you happy?”

It doesn’t. It makes Newt the opposite of happy, actually. Or worse than the opposite of happy, if such a thing exists. “Why?” is all he can squeeze out between the constriction of his lungs. 

“It’s not appropriate for colleagues to spend time together in that way.” Newt has never hated a word as much as he hates “colleagues” right now. 

“Jesus Christ, Hermann! Hasn’t anyone ever done anything nice for you?” 

“Not without an ulterior motive, no!” 

The rage cools like steel dunked in cold water. Understanding sinks to Newt’s gut and shame flares on his cheeks. Hermann knows. He knows how Newt feels about him, has felt about him for a while, and wants it to stop. This is Hermann being nice and putting an end to it before Newt can further embarrass himself. And Newt’s been too thick to know what’s going on. 

It takes a few staggered breaths before Newt can respond. “It helps your leg, right? I don’t want you to go back to being in more pain just because you can’t spend time with me.” Hermann flinches a little at that but Newt can’t be glad he’s scored any sort of points there. “I’ll keep the studio set up and if you need it, use it. And if we just happen to be there at the same time, it’s fine. You can’t avoid someone forever in this tiny tin can, right?” Newt has never been able to give up hope completely, never. It’s a character flaw, he guesses. 

Hermann nods jerkily but his eyes are already glued to his computer terminal. By the time Newt settles at his own desk, his stomach is in knots and he knows if he leaves the lab he’ll burst into tears. 

Instead, he pulls up an email to Tendo. 

_To: Tendo Choi  
From: Newton Geiszler_

_Subject: alright jerk_

_give the dude my number but I swear if you say anything about this again i’ll dump kaiju spleen in your bed_

The prospect of a date, for the first time in Newt’s life, doesn’t make him feel any better. 

***************  
Hermann tries to use the yoga studio less and less, he really does. But it helps his leg, as much as he’s loath to admit it. He tries getting up early in the morning, knowing that Newton would never go to the studio at such an hour. But, really, neither would Hermann. He was not graced with the natural ability to be a morning person so that plan succeeds for only a few days before he gives up on it. The only other option is to try to time his visits to evenings when Newton won’t be in the storage room. Hermann watches for signs that Newt is not inclined to practice and then plans his own workout around them. It’s exhausting. 

Worse than the work he’s putting in to avoiding Newton in anything but the necessary professional setting is that it doesn’t always work. They still end up elbow to elbow on their mats more often than Hermann would like. The eye-searing blaze of Newton’s tattoos and the musky smell of his sweat assault Hermann’s senses. In that tiny room there is no escape from Hermann’s traitorous thoughts. 

_If I were a better man, less broken, more handsome, not as angry, I’d push him back on his mat and cover him until he begged to be let up again._

But Hermann’s not that man so he suffers in silence. And it does feel like suffering every time he pulls forward and can’t touch his toes. They are just out of reach without Newton’s assistance and he can no longer expect that or ask for it. 

He’s been running into Newton in the stuffy studio less and less over the last few weeks. It’s what he wanted; he should be glad, but he isn’t. Not really. Their interactions have been reduced down to quiet hours in the lab and papers slid under doors as a way of passing revisions back and forth. Hermann feels like he’s mourning a friendship but it was both more and less than that at the same time. 

He’s caught in his bitter musings when Newton opens the door. It’s late. Later than they used to start their practice together. Hermann’s been waiting to start his own in hopes that his time in the studio will only partially overlap with Newton’s. 

“Oh.” Newton is jittery, limbs ticking and jumping where he stands in the open door. “I didn’t know you’d be here this late.” 

Hermann rolls his spine up, vertebra by vertebra, to come out of his forward fold. “You’re letting the heat out,” he snaps. 

The door slams and Newton takes his place on the mat next to Hermann’s. Hermann’s heartbeat kicks up at having Newton so close again. It’s both his rightful place and an anxiety-inducing situation for Hermann. 

Newton, however, is still twitching. “Yeah, I just need to calm down a bit before I try to sleep. You know, try to relax and slow shit down?” He rolls his neck, eyes falling closed, and Hermann watches him. Thank God he’s already sweating and flushed to cover the reaction he has to Newton’s presence. 

It doesn’t take much to overstimulate Newton’s mind. Hermann’s seen it happen in the most sedate of circumstances. Maybe even more so then, like his brain is trying to compensate for the lack of action around him. There’s probably no concrete reason for Newton’s current condition but Hermann has to ask anyway. 

“Did you drink too many espresso shots this evening?” It’s rude and he rolls the “r” in espresso as he has a habit of doing when he’s trying to cover up something, but it’s the only way Hermann has to ask about Newton’s life without him. 

Newton barks out an unexpected laugh and Hermann warms that he’s allowed to make Newton laugh. “No, man. Well, I had one. Maybe two. I don’t remember.” Newton extends his arms up, palms coming together and fingers interlocking. He pushes his hips to the right and rounds his spine to the left, bending himself into a half moon shape with a content sigh. “It’s just-So I had a date and I’ve seen the guy a couple times and it’s going okay but I just don’t know.” He rounds back up, straightening his spine before molding into the same pose in the other direction. “I need to wrap my head around it and figure it out, ya know?” 

Hermann stares at him, thankful that Newton can’t see his face from his current position. He needs the hurt and betrayal to show on his face for a few precious seconds before he feels like he can move on. He schools his face back to its normal pinched restraint as quickly as he can, in case Newton turns to face him.

“What is there to figure out?” Hermann struggles up from the floor as Newton turns to face him, dropping his stretch and putting on a perplexed look. “Do you need to figure out if you should sleep with him on the third date or if it’s acceptable to wait until the fourth?” It’s harsh, but not harsher than Hermann intended, and he hopes Newton mistakes the stinging in his eyes for misplaced sweat. 

“What is your damage, dude? I’m sorry, is any mention of my personal life at all, even in the, like, vaguest of terms too much for your precious professional distance?” 

It’s exactly professional distance that Hermann’s worried about. He’s perilously close to crossing a line with Newton that will only be met with disgust or, worse, pity. Hermann is clinging to that professional distance like a life raft on stormy seas. Hermann sticks to what he knows in order to keep that line firmly in place.

“Yes, it is too much. I specifically asked you to respect my boundaries as a professional colleague and you have repeatedly proven yourself unable to do that.” It’s unfair, and Hermann knows it but he’s at a loss for what else to do. 

Newton laughs, but it’s no longer the easy burst of unexpected happiness Hermann’s come to love pulling from Newton’s lips. It’s bitter and cold. “You’re a piece of work. Never mind. I’ll figure it out by myself. Maybe I’ll just call that guy back and tell him exactly which date I’m going to fuck him on.” 

That jab shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. It hurts almost as much as watching Newton storm out of a space that used to be _theirs_.

***************  
Newt’s hair is still damp from the shower and his jeans are just a hair too tight. He looks good, damn good really. Totally fuckable, if he does say so himself. 

Which may be exactly why the thought of going on this date churns his stomach. It’s date number five, and Hermann’s crack about when he was going to sleep with this guy notwithstanding, that’s obviously what this dude has been angling for. 

They’ve kissed. They’ve groped a bit, but it all leaves Newt feeling cold. It’s not what he wants; it’s not who he wants. And damn Hermann for ruining his sex life too. Newt’s never had a problem differentiating between what the heart wants and what his dick needs. 

He tries. He really does. He gets all the way to the door, leather jacket thrown over a shirt translucent enough that his nipples can be glimpsed through the fabric, but he can’t cross the threshold. Newt pulls at his hair, stomps his feet, and lets out a string of curses as colorful as his tattoos. 

He peels off the jacket and throws it across the room. He hears the thump of his phone hitting the floor. “Shit!” 

He struggles with the pile of leather for a moment but manages to pull the phone, unharmed, from the abandoned pocket. The least he can do is call the guy. Newt isn’t one to dump somebody over text message. 

At least he’d gotten a couple dinners off base out of it. Oh, and proof that he wasn’t getting over Hermann fucking Gottlieb any time soon. 

***************  
Days become weeks and the tension between Hermann and Newton only grows with the flipping of the calendar. Hermann is slowly resigning himself to the fact that he’s ruined the best thing that’s happened to him since… well, ever really. No one else had ever cared enough to notice the effect of an environmental change on his leg much less do anything about it. They were friends and Hermann ruined it by being unable to keep his feelings from growing and twisting into something more. 

At least he threw it away on his own terms rather than waiting for Newton to realize what was happening, realize how Hermann felt about him, and to call it off. Hermann has envisioned that conversation a dozen times. Hermann can see Newton’s pitying look and quiet voice as he tries to let Hermann down easily all too well. He’s seen it before on the faces of others who have mattered much less to him than Newton does. It’s positively hateful. 

Everything is becoming an argument. Hermann knows he’s picking pointless fights with Newton but he’s not sure how to stop. Some days that’s the only way they speak to each other, through cruel comments and snarky comebacks instead of the repertoire of actual conversation they had been building over mess hall dinners and sweaty yoga mats. Hermann misses that more than he wants to admit. 

He’s always been so good at keeping distance from others. At reining in his feelings and remaining professional. But every time Newton leaves the lab early, or comes in wearing a shirt he’s obviously pressed, resentment sours like bile at the back of Hermann’s throat. He wants to ask about the man Newton’s been seeing, ask if it’s better to go out on Wednesday nights into Anchorage to see him than it is to stay in the lab with Hermann. Hearing that from Newton’s own lips, in his screechy, endearing voice, would justify the anger and hurt Hermann feels. That he’s going to keep feeling for a while, he knows. 

Instead, he picks fights. He gets frustrated by things he never cared about before, over things he was starting to let slip while he and Newton were growing closer. The acceptance letter from _Computational Geometry_ for their first, probably their only, article together has been stuffed in the bottom of his desk for days. He can’t bring himself to share good news with Newton now. 

But he can peck and needle and cause unnecessary hurt. So he does. He wants to ask but he doesn’t want to know, until he has no other choice. 

“You appear to have taken a shower and your clothes are somewhat respectable. I assume this means you’re going out with your-” He can’t bring himself to fill in any of the words which might be appropriate. Boyfriend. Lover. Significant Other. None of those will roll off his tongue. “That you’re going out on a date. Again.” 

Newton is uncharacteristically stiff. “Yeah, well, Hermann some of us like to have personal lives, you now? Oh, wait, you probably don’t because you like to keep things professional at all times. I forgot.”

Hermann steels himself for a fight. He’s excited for it really because at least they’re talking. “It’s not my fault that you cannot remain appropriate with professional colleagues when the slightest irregularity in your working relationship presents itself!” And if that isn’t a master class in misdirection, Hermann doesn’t know what is. He pulled away to keep himself from crossing a line Newton didn’t even realize was there and now he’s accusing Newton of being the one to have behaved inappropriately. 

Newton stalks toward Hermann’s side of the lab. His face has gone pale and his hands are bunched into fists at his side. “This is not my fault. I didn’t do _anything_ inappropriate. Unless you count just being nice to you as inappropriate, which maybe you do, I don’t fucking know. I didn’t do or say anything about how I felt. Not once. I left you alone when you told me to go and I was even dating a dude I didn’t even really like, who by the way was _not smart_ no matter what Tendo said, just to get over you so can you cut me some fucking slack here?” 

The rant ends and Newton falls silent. Hermann tries to play the rush words back through his mind but he doesn’t trust his recall. Newton is mumbling under his breath and turns to retreat back to his own side of the lab. 

“No! Say that again.” 

Newton turns back to face Hermann. “You want me to rip my heart out again because you weren’t listening the first time? Fuck you, dude. It’s not like you didn’t know already.” 

“I didn’t know. I don’t know now!” Hermann’s heart has stopped in his chest. A trick this cruel hasn’t been played on him since childhood bullies tormented his waking hours. 

“You do know. You said, and I fucking quote, ‘No one has ever done anything nice for me without an ulterior motive.’ I didn’t try to help you with your leg because I wanted anything from you. I did it because you needed help. But you thought it was because I had feelings for you, that I had ulterior motives. I didn’t. I swear, man.” Newton’s gotten himself worked up into a hair pulling, arm waving state. Hermann’s not far behind. His right hand grips his cane with near bone breaking strength and his thigh is twitching. 

“I didn’t mean you. I meant everyone else. No one else has ever done anything nice for me. I didn’t know.” The fight has been sucked out of him by Newton’s distress. 

“Well, now you do. It doesn’t change anything.” 

Hermann snaps to attention at that, a different kind of fight filling his blood. “Yes it bloody well does!” He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He needs to make sure he understands this as thoroughly as possible. “What feelings do you have for me?” Newton’s face twists into a scowl of disbelief at that. “No, I mean-what I mean is, how do you have feelings for me?”

“How?”

“Yes, how? I am broken, and angry, and below average attractiveness.” Hermann’s mind races for some sort of logical sum for all these facts and a cold realization strikes him. “Is it just physical? Is it because you’re lonely?” 

“Jesus, Hermann.” Newton comes forward, edging closer to the line dividing the lab in half, and Hermann pushes down twin urges to walk to meet him and to run away. “No, it’s not just physical and I’m not lonely. And you’re not broken. I’ve never thought that. Not once, dude.” Newton laughs a bit. It sounds wet and half-hearted. “I can’t say you’re not angry, but hey, so am I. And screw you for saying you’re not attractive. Don’t insult my taste, man.” 

Hermann laughs too even though nothing feels humorous. “Your tattoos and clothing call into serious question what you find aesthetically pleasing.”

The joke falls flat. Newton doesn’t laugh, but he does move closer. He licks his lips and Hermann can’t help but watch. “I really didn’t expect you to fall for me because I built you a yoga studio. I didn’t expect anything. 

“You should have.” 

Newton shuffles even closer. Hermann could reach out and touch him now. “What do you mean? You have to tell me. Explain it to me like I’m a five year old.” 

For the first time in years, Hermann’s leg feels steady and strong. “Newton, come here.” 

This time he does reach out and touch Newton. His fingers circle Newton’s forearms. His thumbs press against the vivid colors of Newton’s tattoos, the pressure creating a white halo on Newton’s skin. 

Newton watches Hermann’s fingers on his flesh for one ragged breath. “Can I kiss you? Please say I can kiss you.” 

Hermann can’t get the “yes” out before Newton is pressing their mouths together. It’s slow and tentative and Hermann’s glad. He can hardly believe this is happening at all.

Newton pulls back and Hermann leans forward. He stops just short of chasing down Newton’s lips and rests his forehead against Newton’s cheekbone instead. 

“So, you yelled at me and were an ass because you didn’t think I liked you?” Newton’s lips move against Hermann’s temple. 

“This isn’t primary school, Newton.” Hermann can’t manage to sound chiding. With a nudge from Newton, Hermann pulls back. 

“Then stop acting like it.” Newton leans forward to kiss him again and, this time, it’s nowhere near as tentative. Hermann meets him push for push and lick for lick. 

A whimper escapes from Newton’s throat. His lips break away but he keeps his face within easy reach. “Okay, it is a little physical.” 

“Good,” Hermann growls.

“Fuck, Hermann. This was stupid.” 

“Incredibly stupid.” 

“Will you start having dinner with me again? And talking to me for no reason?” Newton’s voice breaks, pitching up and back down again like a teenager’s. 

A stab of longing to go back and make it work from the beginning hits Hermann deep in his chest. “Yes, all the time.” 

“What about the yoga? Does it help your leg? I really wasn’t trying anything when I made the studio. I didn’t think you were broken either.” 

That’s the opposite of what Hermann had feared all along. They’ve been talking at cross purposes, like perpendicular lines instead of parallel. “It does help my leg. Thank you.” 

“You know you can practice yoga naked.” The joking tone Newton almost always has, even when yelling at him, is back. Hermann smiles in relief. 

“Never in a million years, Newton.” 

“Oh come on, man. You won’t even call me Newt now?” Newton tries to pull away entirely but Hermann holds him fast with a surprisingly strong grasp.

Hermann slides his lips across Newton’s with a murmured, “Shut up, Dr. Geiszler.”


End file.
